Understanding [13/17]
Title: Understanding [13/17] - New Realities
Rating: NC-17 overall
Pairing/Characters: Mohinder/Sylar, Ensemble
Spoilers: Seasons 1 & 2, and some of the online comics.
Warnings: Non-descriptive violence, abuse of the word 'scene'.
This Time: Sylar meets Adam while Mohinder dreams of the past.
A/N: The time it took me to write this = an Epic Failure. Sooo sorry. =( On the plus side, its 1200 words longer than any previous chapter!
As always, thank you to ladywilde80 for the beta, encouragement and sounding board services. Love you darling!
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Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12
Colours danced like fireflies; weaving in and out, back and forth; shifting through the visible spectrum. It was soothing, hypnotizing, captivating; at least, until the pain kicked in. A splitting headache threatened to rip his head in two and the dancing lights went from pleasant to disorienting and nauseating.
Sylar groaned, unable to stop the sound from escaping his lips as he tried to pry his eyes open. He felt heavy and light all at the same time, floating but unable to move properly, almost like he was underwater. Whatever had happened to him wasn’t good. He concentrated on willing the world to stop spinning so that he could evaluate the situation, find out exactly what was going on.
“Adam, he’s awake,” a female voice spoke. Sylar couldn’t make out an accent, but there was something off about it.
“Ah, excellent!” The second voice was male with a very distinct British accent. “You know what to do.”
“Are you sure about this? If he’s as dangerous as you think…”
The voices grew more distant, muffled. Sylar still couldn’t see straight, so he tried to focus his hearing instead. He reached for that control that came so easy to him and felt like he was trying to hold on to a wet bar of soap. He knew what he had to do but when he tried to get a hold of the metaphorical switch he slipped and fumbled. His mind was a fuzzy blur.
Drugs, I’ve been drugged.
Not a pleasant turn of events but one he’d dealt with successfully twice before. This felt more like the first time but not identical. There had been an initially unforeseen consequence of one of his earliest additions. The ability that had allowed him to fake his own death and escape from the Company’s clutches was, in its purest form, a way of consciously controlling certain bodily functions. Between that and his own original ability he was able to control his own metabolism. He could speed it up and burn drugs easily out of his system. All he needed was the tiniest thread of control, just a small little nudge to set the ball rolling. It would be slow at first but as the effect of the drugs waned the process would rapidly grow faster.
Sylar tried to reach for his head, a reflexive reaction to another wave of pain, and met unexpected resistance. Well, admittedly not too surprising. Anyone willing to knock him out and drug him was going to keep him restrained. As his mind shook itself out of his sluggish stupor he abruptly realized that he shouldn’t have any enemies here in Japan (Peter’s confusing presence didn’t count. This was definitely not his style). All his previous kills, with the exception of the two in Mexico, had been in the US.
That meant that, unless this was some random stranger (which was highly unlikely), it was either someone who knew Hiro or someone from the Company had managed to track him down. Did they operate internationally?
They don’t sound like Agents, but then again I’ve only met a couple…
They had sounded like native English speakers. That almost certainly meant the Company…
As he finally managed to drag his eyes open, Sylar gave a quick tug on his restraints to test his mobility. He was sitting on a chair with his arms handcuffed behind his back. The chair had a semi open back and his arms were weaved through it so that he couldn’t go anywhere without the chair in tow. Startlingly, though, that was it.
Strange for someone to go to all this trouble and then expect a wooden chair and some handcuffs to keep me in line.
He looked up at the sudden sound of footsteps right in front of him and it was all he could do not to let his jaw drop open in shock. The man was the spitting image of the picture in Adam Monroe’s file.
Last seen with Hiro Nakamura indeed…
Things were looking up.
Adam, meeting Sylar’s still hazy gaze with a smile, sat down in an identical chair and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.
“Welcome back, Mr. Sylar.” The accent coupled by Adam calling him ‘Mr. Sylar’ evoked a poorly concealed wince. It was impossible to stop the rush of memories from the last time he had been drugged and strapped to a chair; Mohinder standing over him with that smug, vengeful glare. Sylar had to mentally slap himself to pull his head out of the past. Now was certainly not the time to reminisce.
“I apologize for the drugs. You’re probably finding it a little tough to control much of anything right now; but even before I realized who you were, well, the way you ripped Hiro’s loft to pieces was impressive enough to warrant precautions. This isn’t what you might think though. In fact, I’d actually like to make you a proposal.”
Sylar glared at the man, trying to connect to the speech center of his brain but having an inordinate amount of difficulty. If the drugs weren’t messing with his head so much, he might have started to get worried.
“First though, you’re probably wondering just who I am and how I know who you are.”
Sylar managed a small nod, though he guessed Petrelli had something to do with it. The Company file had said the two were working together. The more he could get Monroe to talk, the more time he would have to work the drugs out of his system. So far he wasn’t having much luck. At least with the curare he’d been able to think straight; allowing him to find the hole in that cold, smothering blanket.
“Well I spent quite some time in the presence of one Peter Petrelli with nothing to do but talk. Not the brightest of sorts, but incredibly useful. So I’ve heard all about you. I could be wrong, of course, but you match the description and then there’s the watch on your wrist.”
Sylar waited for the inevitable crack about naming himself after a watch, but it never came. Odd, he thought. He must want me to do something for him. That I can use.
“So Mr. Sylar, here’s the situation. You’ve been pumped full of some powerful drugs, but their effects should be wearing off in a short while. At which point you’re going to have to make a decision. We can discuss things like civilized beings, and I do believe that we can find ourselves a mutually beneficial agreement; or you can try to attack me, and discover that my partner,” at this point Adam gestured to the only window in this odd cement and steel room. The source of the female voice graced them both with a brief wave before vanishing from sight, “is sitting on the button that will flood this room with a gas that will knock us both out in seconds. I can’t say I’d be too pleased with that option. I’m rather hoping I don’t have to decide what to do with you after that. It would be a terrible waste.”
Sylar listened silently, not letting his glare slip but working on lacing a layer of utter boredom underneath. Control was slowly creeping back into his hands. His mind was fuzzy around the edges, but the sensation was receding with acceptable speed. He was fairly certain that he had regained enough control of faculties to speak again but debated which approach to take. He considered the man before him, evaluating what a four hundred year old man valued the most, and what his weaknesses might be. He was getting inklings, impressions of how Monroe was put together, but he couldn’t be sure yet.
Still, it only took a few moments for him to decide on the best course of action. Sylar was fairly certain that denying his identity would be a step in the wrong direction. So instead he decided on a show of the power, of knowledge, equal to the one that had just been dangled in front of him.
“Adam Monroe,” he greeted with amusement. “What a pleasure to finally meet you, though I can’t say I’m a fan of the circumstances.”
Monroe’s face flashed with visible shock. He recovered quickly though, seemingly consumed by curiosity. He was so open with his expressions that Sylar was instantly suspicious of it. He was either an idiot or he was trying to manipulate Sylar somehow.
“Now just how do you know my name?”
“I know a lot of things that might surprise you.” Sylar countered with a shrug. There was no way he was going to be tricked into showing his hand this early in the game.
“I think I just might believe you about that, Mr. Sylar.” Adam conceded graciously. “Hmmm… Peter said you were dangerous, and I have no doubt that you are, but he never mentioned that you’re a clever one too.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Adam.” Sylar was surprised by how amused he was by the whole situation. Monroe was probably very good at getting what he wanted, but even Gabriel had been good at reading people and since Sylar’s ability had awakened he’d become a master of it.
He couldn’t help thinking again of the last time he was drugged and bound to a chair, similar and yet so different. Mohinder had been all fire and emotion. It had taken absolutely everything Sylar had to talk him out of pulling that trigger. This was a walk in the park by comparison. Monroe didn’t want him dead, not yet at least, which was a truly pleasant change.
“Can’t blame me for trying though,” Adam smiled and leaned back in his seat. “Alright, forget the games then. Let’s get straight to the point. I need muscle and you need resources. Right now you’ve got to be ducking the cops, but more importantly I’m sure you’re on the Company’s radar. If you know who I am, you should know who they are.”
Sylar nodded once, fighting the reflexive expression of disgust at the mention of the Company. No need to give this man any more power.
“You can outrun the police forever, but the Company knows what they’re up against. Eventually they will find a way to take you down. Unless,” he smiled conspiratorially, “they’re on your side.”
That got Sylar’s attention, though there was only a flicker in his eyes to betray it.
“Planning a takeover are we?” He returned with mild amusement.
“Call it Reclamation. I’m only taking back what was mine to begin with. I’ve already had 10 of the 12 so-called Founders eliminated. Take out the last two and as long as I’m there to seize the reigns no one will challenge me. I’m in charge and you’re left alone.”
Sylar sat in silence, pondering Adam’s proposal. There was a certain appeal to it. If he could trust the man to keep his word it would make his life much easier. With the Company off his back all he’d have to worry about would be Petrelli and his band of do-gooders. Still, there were a lot of reasons not to go along with it as well.
“The people I’d like you to kill for me both have abilities of their own. One of them could be extremely dangerous to go after unprepared.” Adam continued, apparently determining that Sylar needed more convincing. “I’d be willing to point you in the direction of some other highly useful targets. Some of them are even gift wrapped and waiting for you in the Company cells. Naturally there are some that have been or would become my allies whom I’ll need to keep around, but I assure you that you won’t be disappointed.”
Sylar let a feral grin grace his lips as he decided that he had heard enough. With a simple thought the cuffs on his wrists melted and pooled into a puddle of molten silver. Sylar stood, facing a startled Adam. Not shocked or terrified, just surprised. Clearly he was still underestimating Sylar’s capabilities.
“I’m impressed. It should have taken twice that time for your abilities to return.” Adam rose to his feet as well as he watched Sylar slowly circle the room, grin still plastered to his lips.
“Oh you’ll find I’m full of surprises.” Sylar replied with amusement. He was focusing his hearing to find the right wall.
“So do we have a deal then?”
Sylar paused, laying a hand thoughtfully on the concrete wall before turning to lock gazes with Adam once more.
“I’ll admit that I do have people to kill in the Company. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was some overlap. I’ll even admit that I do find the idea of having an ally take over to be appealing.” He caressed the concrete in a faintly disturbing imitation of affection, “Except there are two problems. One: I don’t know that you’ll stay true to your word. Even if I could, I also happen to know that you have a habit of trying to release deadly viruses. Two: you have that absolutely irresistible ability. Immortality! How could I possibly let that slip through my grasp? It would have to be one hell of a deal.”
In a flash, telekinetic force backing up a controlled nuclear burst smashed through the wall where Sylar was touching it; destroying an almost man-sized section of wall in the blink of an eye.
“Now that we have some ventilation going,” Sylar continued with a smile as the dust settled. “I think its time to draw up some new terms.”
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Mohinder rubbed his tired eyes with irritation and tried to force himself to focus on the laptop that lay open in front of him. It had been three hours since Peter had vanished to rescue Hiro and there was still no sign of either man. If he hadn’t been so used to dealing with high stress situations, Mohinder would have been panicking by now.
Instead, he was doing his best to distract himself and not focus on the most likely of explanations, being that Sylar had killed them both. No, hopefully Sylar valued his own life enough that he wouldn’t kill Peter. Something else must have happened. If not, then the research he couldn’t concentrate on would be more important than ever.
It had been a hellishly long day for Mohinder, and he should have gone to bed hours ago, but he didn’t want to be sleeping if Peter suddenly reappeared in need of help. He didn’t think he could sleep through the worry anyway, though sheer physical exhaustion might not give him a choice if this continued on for much longer. Mental exhaustion wasn’t far behind either.
Mohinder stared at the latest test results on Peter’s blood in something near exasperation. This virus didn’t make any sense at all. It hardly even looked like a virus, and it certainly wasn’t behaving like one. This pathogen could be alien in origin for all he could make heads or tails of it and if he didn’t make some sort of headway soon he was going to need to find help. It was a situation that he had been hoping to avoid like the plague he was trying to prevent.
At three o’clock in the morning, it all seemed rather hopeless.
Mohinder stretched out, letting a long yawn escape before staring at his empty cup of tea. Nothing like a little caffeine to keep him going, he supposed. He stood sleepily, pacing over to plug the kettle in. His entire body ached and he knew that he should get some rest. His body needed it, he was stressed out and there was nothing he could do but wait. At least the wait would be easier asleep.
“So, what, you’re going to cut me open?”
Mohinder moved faster than he would have believed possible, as tired as he was, whirling towards the source of an impossible voice, Sylar’s voice. The sight that lay before him froze Mohinder in place. A mixture of fear, grief and incredulity coursed through his frame in an instant. His apartment had changed, looking more like it had when Mohinder had first arrived from Madras in search of answers. Even more impossibly, his father sat at the dining table across from Sylar. Only it was Sylar in a way Mohinder had never seen him before.
“I’d like to run some tests. EEG, EKG, nothing invasive. A friend at Columbia has access to an MRI.”
This couldn’t be real. It was utterly impossible, and yet… The explanation sank in as his mind continued to reel. He was dreaming, had to be. Only it was of things he couldn’t possibly know, with a clarity that no normal dream could ever possess. He’d only experienced this once before, back in India. This was Sanjog’s ability at work.
“Mapping the brain.”
His father looked the same as he ever had; drinking tea with the man who would eventually end his life. Sylar -or Gabriel, Mohinder supposed- on the other hand, looked almost like a different man. On the surface, it wasn’t hard to see why Sylar viewed his past self as another person entirely. Gabriel was dressed in a dark sweater over a sweater-vest with a hint of a white shirt underneath. He had on thick glasses and his hair was perfectly slicked and combed off to the side. His shoulders were hunched in a manner that had the name Zane echoing in Mohinder’s head and he spoke with an almost giddy eagerness; but the intensity in his eyes, that was all too much like the Sylar he knew. If Mohinder hadn’t witnessed a resurrection and seen a man exploding in the sky above New York, he would have said it was the strangest thing he’d ever seen. Strange had taken on a whole new meaning in his life, but at the very least this was disconcertingly surreal.
“Measuring Alpha waves, resting rates, neuron clusters. The brain controls every human action, voluntary or involuntary; every breath, every heartbeat, every emotion. If the soul exists, scientifically speaking, it exists in the brain.”
It was a view on life and philosophy that Chandra had never shared with his son. They’d never had a relaxed moment together; always some sort of tension or strife between them. There was an ache in Mohinder’s chest. He’d always known that, to some extent, Sylar’s harsh words had been right; but seeing his father bonding more easily with a man he barely knew than with his own son evoked sharp echoes of old pain.
Gabriel laughed; relaxed, happy.
“When I was a kid, I used to wish some stranger would come and tell me my family wasn’t really my family. They weren’t bad people, they were just… insignificant, and I wanted to be different -special- I wanted to change. A new name, a new life.” Gabriel paused, his intensity fading into something more normal. “The Watchmaker’s Son… became a Watchmaker. It is so futile. I wanted to be… important.”
“You are important Gabriel.”
“What do you think my abilities might be?” The eagerness again, and Mohinder could see just how desperately Gabriel must have clung to every word Chandra spoke.
The scene shifted, blurred. The lighting dimmed and Mohinder felt a wave of disorientation before the new scene settled into place. It was his father and Gabriel again, this time running tests. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed, but from the change of clothes Mohinder knew that at the very least it wasn’t the same day.
“Why do you repair watches Gabriel?”
Gabriel sighed, “My father didn’t really give me a choice.”
“Yes but why not do what you want to do? Why not change?”
Gabriel withdrew for a moment before a thought seemed to hit him, and that eagerness that Mohinder associated with Zane was back again.
“You use a phrase in your book: Evolutionary Imperative.”
“That which we are destined to do.”
“Sea turtles die on the same exact beach where they were born. Lions slaughter gazelles. Spiders eat their young. They don’t want to, they have to.”
Chandra took another look at the monitor and sighed.
“Well, the good news is: you’re healthy.”
“What, you mean n-normal? What, there’s still no signs?”
“No.”
No? His father hadn’t seen it? Hadn’t found it?
“Well, maybe tomorrow. We’re still going to the CT scan right?”
“I think we should prepare for the possibility that… I may have been wrong. You may not have a special ability.”
Gabriel stood, “I am so close. I can feel it.” Chandra shook his head, started to reply but Gabriel cut him off. “You came to me. I am on your list.”
“These tests aren’t one hundred percent.”
“Don’t give up on me.” Gabriel voice was so desperate, pleading.
“There are other opportunities I need to focus on.”
Mohinder winced at his father’s reply. Gabriel was clearly already unstable to begin with. He was so obviously desperate for validation, approval, assurance that he was worth something. Chandra couldn’t have picked a worse reply and Gabriel reacted as Mohinder would have expected even if he hadn’t known who Gabriel would eventually become.
“What like these people, huh?” Gabriel grabbed a stack of folders off the table, growing hurt and anger evident in his voice. “They’re important? This guy, Brian Davis, you think he’s telekinetic? Move things with his mind. Are you just going to toss him aside too?!” Gabriel threw the folders across the room, seething, and Mohinder closed his eyes as Chandra asked Gabriel to leave and Gabriel proceeded to storm out. Brian Davis, he must have been Sylar’s first victim, the source of his prized telekinesis. If only Chandra hadn’t so callously rejected Gabriel, maybe that man would have lived.
The world shimmered and rippled, darkened even more, and the scene that unfolded was far more familiar.
Sylar stepped out of his motel room, hunched against the cold, and Mohinder had no problem working out when this moment had occurred. It was the motel they had stayed at the night before finding Dale’s body.
Sylar closed the door to his room and took a step towards the parking lot before stopping in his tracks. He remained motionless for a long moment before turning to look at the door to the room next to his. Mohinder knew that he must have been deeply asleep at this point; blissfully unaware that he had just led a serial killer to his next victim. He stood and watched now in silence, the sting of the betrayal, of his own monumental stupidity stung in his chest.
“Why this moment?” Mohinder asked aloud. He wasn’t really expecting Sanjog to appear and reply, but the words were out of his mouth before he could consider the logic of it.
Sylar continued to stare at Mohinder’s door for an uncomfortably long amount of time. Several minutes, at least, must have passed before he took a step towards the door, brushing a hand up against the painted wood. Sylar let out a deep sigh, leaning his side up against the door, his intense gaze falling away to reveal something Mohinder had never seen in him before: sadness. It was a display of weakness that Sylar would never, ever let anyone see, and Mohinder couldn’t tear his eyes away. Sylar raised a hand, curled into a fist as if he was about to knock, only to jerk to a halt a mere inch from the door.
“No,” Sylar’s voice was so soft that Mohinder nearly didn’t hear the whispered word. “When he finds out… he’ll hate me.”
Just like that, Sylar stood up straight, shaking off his melancholy. His posture straightened and his entire demeanor changed to the far more familiar, predatory one. The scene dissolved as Sylar stalked off, presumably to visit Dale’s garage.
Mohinder watched in silence, and couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if Sylar had knocked on his door that night. Whether Dale might have survived, or if her fate had been sealed the moment Sylar had laid eyes on her.
He was getting used to the shifts in perspective now, but Mohinder wasn’t at all prepared for the next scene that unfolded before him. The room was the one in which his lab would eventually be built. Issac Mendez’s loft was filled with scattered paintings that Mohinder had heard about but never had the chance to see. Under any other circumstances he might have been entranced by them, distracted, but right at that moment they were wholly unimportant.
Four gruesome paintings in black and crimson framed the reality spread out before them. Issac Mendez, pinned to the floor, lying in a pool of his own blood. It was one thing to know that he worked every day where the man had been murdered, but it was quite another to actually see it first hand.
Speaking of Sylar, Mohinder wasn’t surprised to note that he was in the room too. Each one of these glimpses into the past had been surrounding him, after all. As distracting as the evidence of what Sylar was truly capable of was, Mohinder forced himself to concentrate on the killer himself. It helped that he couldn’t smell anything here.
“I can hear you dialing 911. It was a mistake to call.” Sylar’s voice, his inflections and the emotion buried beneath the surface were exactly as Mohinder remembered them. He’d replayed that phone conversation over and over in his head so many times after Kirby plaza. He’d tried to imagine how things might have gone differently if he hadn’t foolishly dialed 911 for help. What could police officers have done anyway but get themselves killed? Mohinder could admit it, hearing Sylar’s voice again had caused him to panic. He wasn’t sure what he should have done, if anything could have stopped what had happened, but the question had preyed on his mind for a long time. Up until Matt, having moved in just the week before, complained of how obsessive and repetitive his thoughts were.
Sylar stared at the phone in silence for a long moment before crouching down by the mural on the floor of the bomb exploding over New York.
“Why?” He muttered to himself, “Why would I do it? It doesn’t make any sense…”
Sylar continued to stare for several long seconds before rising to his feet. Arms crossed, hand clenching the phone so tightly that his knuckles were turning white; Sylar began to pace back and forth across the room. Mohinder didn’t think that he could regret his actions more until this moment. Sylar was genuinely worried. The idea of killing all those people truly bothered him.
While Mohinder was lost in his thoughts, mind whirring to process certain uncomfortable newfound truths, Sylar had come to a decision. Mohinder’s eyes shot back across the room to him as Sylar dialed the last few numbers.
“Hi mom, it’s me.” A pause. “I know. I know it’s been a while but I’ve been thinking about things, thinking about the future; my future.” A deep breath and another pause. “I know its last minute, but if I could just come talk to you. Can I come over?” Longer pause. “Great. I’ll see you soon.”
As the scene blurred and shifted again, Mohinder felt his stomach clench painfully. He knew from reading Sylar’s file what had happened to his mother, but he’d never considered that he’d gone to see her because the first person he’d reached out to for help had failed him. It felt like another murder Mohinder could have prevented, another life he could have saved.
The next scene to lay itself out before him was the most foreign to Mohinder’s knowledge. Sylar was talking with an older woman who must have been his mother. He was dressed in the shirt and sweater-vest that Mohinder was starting to think had been the only style of clothing Gabriel had worn.
He’s wearing those glasses again… odd, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t wear contacts now.
He was also, Mohinder noticed, wearing a coat that didn’t belong to him.
That’s where it went… why would he steal my coat of all things?
The apartment was awash in clutter. So very unlike the place Mohinder had broken into with Eden when Sylar was still a nebulous dark shadow, a faceless murderer.
Sylar had zeroed in on a broken clock and set about repairing it like it was a compulsion. Mohinder’s eyes were glued to the scene. It was a pleasant change to see that obsessive concentration focused on something so harmless and productive. More surprisingly, despite all the disdain Sylar had shown for his previous life and career, while his full attention was on the delicate mechanism buried within he looked content, almost happy.
“I can’t tell you how proud I am.” Virginia Gray was a small woman, wiry and carrying a flustered air. She was petting her son like he was a precious pet rather than a grown man; hovering over him in a way that could easily become irritating, smothering.
Sylar scoffed gently, “I haven’t done anything.”
“You travel the world! Some of us only get to see it in snow globes.”
If only you knew what he did while he traveled…
“I’m tired of traveling. I think I might stay here.”
What?
“In Queens? Why would you ever come back?”
“If I stayed maybe I could stop… Maybe I wouldn’t have to-“ He broke off as he looked into his mother’s eyes. It was an astounding, almost unbelievable admission -confession- and there was no way that woman could possibly understand its meaning.
“What?” His mother asked softly, “Gabriel!” She got up, starting to say something else when the scene shifted once more. Not as far this time, the change was faster.
The world resolved itself in the middle of a struggle. Both Sylar and his mother looked on the verge of tears. Clearly something had gone horribly wrong between then and now. Mrs. Gray grabbed a pair of scissors out of her knitting basket, pointing them at her son like she would stab him with them if he got too close. Sylar grabbed hold of her wrists, pulling the dangerous scissors up and out of the way. Harsh words were exchanged, but Sylar’s face was a landscape of agony. He had tried to calm his hysterical mother down, but now things had spiraled out of control.
Mohinder winced and looked away as he heard the sound of torn flesh. It really was an accident. Sylar’s look of utter horror as he stepped back and saw the scissors protruding from his mother’s chest, blood seeping from the wound to soak into her shirt, was proof of that. Shock, disbelief, despair; all these things were splayed out across both faces before Mrs. Gray collapsed.
A half-cry had Mohinder nearly jumping out of his shoes. A blink of the eyes and Hiro was there, having swung his sword at Sylar and failed to land a blow. Sylar caught the blade easily, momentarily distracted from the horror that had just befallen him. Mohinder had to admire his reflexes.
“That heartbeat; you were in the loft, why are you following me?”
“I must stop you.” It was the first really good look Mohinder had ever gotten of the time traveler. He looked so young, uncertain and afraid.
“Then do it.” Sylar pulled the sword forward, placing it against his own neck. It was a move that shocked Hiro and Mohinder alike. “Do it! KILL ME!”
Hiro was trembling, unable to wrench the sword from Sylar’s grip as a wave of cold harsh enough to freeze steel spread from his grip.
“You can’t, you coward. Now I’m going to have to kill you.”
“Hiro!” The newcomer wasn’t someone Mohinder recognized. He must have been Hiro’s friend though, because as he came bursting through the door Hiro grabbed a hold of his shoulder and both men vanished.
“Thank you for your help Sanjog. I can handle things from here.”
Mohinder tore his eyes from the scene before him at the sound of a woman’s voice. Where previously there had been the back of the apartment, there was now an odd, fuzzy empty space filled with just two people: Sanjog and a woman Mohinder had never seen before.
Sanjog nodded to the woman before turning to flash Mohinder a smile.
“Good luck.” He intoned with a voice that had always felt a bit eerie to Mohinder. It spoke of wisdom beyond the boy’s relative youth and he couldn’t help wondering what horrors the boy had witnessed thanks to his ability.
Sanjog vanished into the increasing blur, and as he went a new reality snapped into place. Pristine, clear blue sky as far as the eyes could see met Mohinder’s confused gaze. For the moment though, he wasn’t interested in the scenery.
“Who are you?” He asked as politely as he could manage given his confusion. “What is this all about?”
The woman had been distracted by the change in scenery but now she focused her full attention on Mohinder. She was dressed simply in sneakers, jeans and a plain brown t-shirt. She was about Mohinder’s height with a slim but well toned build; she looked like someone familiar with manual labour of some sort. Her red hair was tied back in a no-nonsense braid; her ovular face composed of a mixture of chiseled angles and smooth curves. Her eyes were what stood out the most. Not the colour -a muted shade of brown- but the sorrow they conveyed. They spoke of a life and experience that must have been anything but pleasant. They spoke of grief, and despair, but as she curled her lips into a small smile of greeting there was also the tiniest flicker of hope.
She took a few steps closer and extended her hand in greeting. For all that her eyes spoke of untold horrors there were no signs of external damage. No visible scars to tell of past events.
“Dr. Suresh,” She greeted pleasantly. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Your journals brought to me a hope I never thought I’d find.”
Mohinder clasped hands with this stranger more out of habit and common courtesy than anything else. Getting a visit from Sanjog was always a bit surreal, but this was just bloody confusing. His mind was still backed up trying to process what he had just seen and now he had to deal with this. It was all he could do to try and file this newfound plethora of information away for future consideration.
“I’m sorry, what journals?” He managed afterwards.
“Oh-“ She paused for a moment, a faintly embarrassed look settling over her features. “Sorry, you haven’t written them yet. I suppose you never will now, at least not under the same circumstances.”
It was a testament to how crazy Mohinder’s life had become that instead of blinking in confusion he managed to pull the pieces of this particular puzzle together right away.
“You’re the one that saved Peter’s life aren’t you?” He deduced with a touch of awe, “the one from the future.” If she was an Empath, like Sylar had claimed, then that explained how she’d stepped into this odd dream state that he’d previously only associated with Sanjog.
The woman nodded and turned away. Mohinder followed her silently to the edge of what he now realized was a roof. He watched her carefully as they reached the railing. The woman’s eyes were full of nothing but sadness now.
“This is the world I come from,” she explained mournfully. “The skies are cleaner then I once ever thought possible. Nature has rebounded, started its recovery, reclaiming the earth. It’s a shame that something so right could only come from something so horribly wrong.”
Mohinder turned to look out over the city stretched before him. He didn’t recognize the skyline, or any landmarks, but it really didn’t matter which city it was. Streets that should have been flooded with people were deserted and overrun with the green of grasses and the like that had started to take over. A few bits of litter tumbling down cracked and crumbling sidewalks were all that moved. There was some minor destruction in evidence, but nothing more than what a few looters, maybe just some poor souls trying to survive, might have inflicted.
“I already believed in what this virus was capable of, why show me this?” He asked softly. It was so quiet; that was the most unnatural part of it all. Silence reigned supreme; interrupted only by the gentle whistling of the wind and the occasional birdcall.
“I don’t know if this can be stopped,” she replied slowly, her gaze fixed on some point on the horizon. “It took a long time to find out how the virus was released. It was your writings that led me to the answer. So I traveled back to kill Sylar; the one biggest threat to Peter Petrelli’s life. I never seriously believed that I could do more than delay the inevitable, give humanity a few more years. Some of the best minds in the world tried to find a cure and failed. A part of me hoped that they had just needed more time, but… well optimism is hard to find in a world like this.”
She paused for a moment, chewing on her lower lip as her eyes darted from the skyline to Mohinder and back again.
“When Sylar fingered me as an Empath, like Peter, I agreed for simplicity’s sake. The thing is, though, we’re not quite the same. He absorbs abilities with much more ease and to a greater extent than I have ever been capable of. A- a friend of mine used to joke that I was the older model.” She let out a huff of air and turned around to lean against the railing. “Thing is, while Peter quite readily absorbs the abilities of others, he also absorbs a bit more. At least, I’m pretty sure he does. It’s probably not something he’s noticed in himself yet, but for me it was the first thing. My talents work through touch; and while I have to struggle to strengthen the abilities I take on, I can quite easily Read people. Passively, it only gives me hints of their emotions, their personality, but over time I developed it into something much more. I can see who people are, and the past experiences that shaped them into what they’ve become.”
“You used that ability on Sylar?” Mohinder questioned with intense curiosity.
“Yes,” she nodded the affirmative before straightening. “He wasn’t unconscious long enough for me to get more than a slice of the overall picture, but what I got nearly took my breath away. It’s a bizarre twist of fate to say the least, but Sylar may be the only one who can save the world.”
Part 14
Rating: NC-17 overall
Pairing/Characters: Mohinder/Sylar, Ensemble
Spoilers: Seasons 1 & 2, and some of the online comics.
Warnings: Non-descriptive violence, abuse of the word 'scene'.
This Time: Sylar meets Adam while Mohinder dreams of the past.
A/N: The time it took me to write this = an Epic Failure. Sooo sorry. =( On the plus side, its 1200 words longer than any previous chapter!
As always, thank you to ladywilde80 for the beta, encouragement and sounding board services. Love you darling!
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Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12
Colours danced like fireflies; weaving in and out, back and forth; shifting through the visible spectrum. It was soothing, hypnotizing, captivating; at least, until the pain kicked in. A splitting headache threatened to rip his head in two and the dancing lights went from pleasant to disorienting and nauseating.
Sylar groaned, unable to stop the sound from escaping his lips as he tried to pry his eyes open. He felt heavy and light all at the same time, floating but unable to move properly, almost like he was underwater. Whatever had happened to him wasn’t good. He concentrated on willing the world to stop spinning so that he could evaluate the situation, find out exactly what was going on.
“Adam, he’s awake,” a female voice spoke. Sylar couldn’t make out an accent, but there was something off about it.
“Ah, excellent!” The second voice was male with a very distinct British accent. “You know what to do.”
“Are you sure about this? If he’s as dangerous as you think…”
The voices grew more distant, muffled. Sylar still couldn’t see straight, so he tried to focus his hearing instead. He reached for that control that came so easy to him and felt like he was trying to hold on to a wet bar of soap. He knew what he had to do but when he tried to get a hold of the metaphorical switch he slipped and fumbled. His mind was a fuzzy blur.
Drugs, I’ve been drugged.
Not a pleasant turn of events but one he’d dealt with successfully twice before. This felt more like the first time but not identical. There had been an initially unforeseen consequence of one of his earliest additions. The ability that had allowed him to fake his own death and escape from the Company’s clutches was, in its purest form, a way of consciously controlling certain bodily functions. Between that and his own original ability he was able to control his own metabolism. He could speed it up and burn drugs easily out of his system. All he needed was the tiniest thread of control, just a small little nudge to set the ball rolling. It would be slow at first but as the effect of the drugs waned the process would rapidly grow faster.
Sylar tried to reach for his head, a reflexive reaction to another wave of pain, and met unexpected resistance. Well, admittedly not too surprising. Anyone willing to knock him out and drug him was going to keep him restrained. As his mind shook itself out of his sluggish stupor he abruptly realized that he shouldn’t have any enemies here in Japan (Peter’s confusing presence didn’t count. This was definitely not his style). All his previous kills, with the exception of the two in Mexico, had been in the US.
That meant that, unless this was some random stranger (which was highly unlikely), it was either someone who knew Hiro or someone from the Company had managed to track him down. Did they operate internationally?
They don’t sound like Agents, but then again I’ve only met a couple…
They had sounded like native English speakers. That almost certainly meant the Company…
As he finally managed to drag his eyes open, Sylar gave a quick tug on his restraints to test his mobility. He was sitting on a chair with his arms handcuffed behind his back. The chair had a semi open back and his arms were weaved through it so that he couldn’t go anywhere without the chair in tow. Startlingly, though, that was it.
Strange for someone to go to all this trouble and then expect a wooden chair and some handcuffs to keep me in line.
He looked up at the sudden sound of footsteps right in front of him and it was all he could do not to let his jaw drop open in shock. The man was the spitting image of the picture in Adam Monroe’s file.
Last seen with Hiro Nakamura indeed…
Things were looking up.
Adam, meeting Sylar’s still hazy gaze with a smile, sat down in an identical chair and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.
“Welcome back, Mr. Sylar.” The accent coupled by Adam calling him ‘Mr. Sylar’ evoked a poorly concealed wince. It was impossible to stop the rush of memories from the last time he had been drugged and strapped to a chair; Mohinder standing over him with that smug, vengeful glare. Sylar had to mentally slap himself to pull his head out of the past. Now was certainly not the time to reminisce.
“I apologize for the drugs. You’re probably finding it a little tough to control much of anything right now; but even before I realized who you were, well, the way you ripped Hiro’s loft to pieces was impressive enough to warrant precautions. This isn’t what you might think though. In fact, I’d actually like to make you a proposal.”
Sylar glared at the man, trying to connect to the speech center of his brain but having an inordinate amount of difficulty. If the drugs weren’t messing with his head so much, he might have started to get worried.
“First though, you’re probably wondering just who I am and how I know who you are.”
Sylar managed a small nod, though he guessed Petrelli had something to do with it. The Company file had said the two were working together. The more he could get Monroe to talk, the more time he would have to work the drugs out of his system. So far he wasn’t having much luck. At least with the curare he’d been able to think straight; allowing him to find the hole in that cold, smothering blanket.
“Well I spent quite some time in the presence of one Peter Petrelli with nothing to do but talk. Not the brightest of sorts, but incredibly useful. So I’ve heard all about you. I could be wrong, of course, but you match the description and then there’s the watch on your wrist.”
Sylar waited for the inevitable crack about naming himself after a watch, but it never came. Odd, he thought. He must want me to do something for him. That I can use.
“So Mr. Sylar, here’s the situation. You’ve been pumped full of some powerful drugs, but their effects should be wearing off in a short while. At which point you’re going to have to make a decision. We can discuss things like civilized beings, and I do believe that we can find ourselves a mutually beneficial agreement; or you can try to attack me, and discover that my partner,” at this point Adam gestured to the only window in this odd cement and steel room. The source of the female voice graced them both with a brief wave before vanishing from sight, “is sitting on the button that will flood this room with a gas that will knock us both out in seconds. I can’t say I’d be too pleased with that option. I’m rather hoping I don’t have to decide what to do with you after that. It would be a terrible waste.”
Sylar listened silently, not letting his glare slip but working on lacing a layer of utter boredom underneath. Control was slowly creeping back into his hands. His mind was fuzzy around the edges, but the sensation was receding with acceptable speed. He was fairly certain that he had regained enough control of faculties to speak again but debated which approach to take. He considered the man before him, evaluating what a four hundred year old man valued the most, and what his weaknesses might be. He was getting inklings, impressions of how Monroe was put together, but he couldn’t be sure yet.
Still, it only took a few moments for him to decide on the best course of action. Sylar was fairly certain that denying his identity would be a step in the wrong direction. So instead he decided on a show of the power, of knowledge, equal to the one that had just been dangled in front of him.
“Adam Monroe,” he greeted with amusement. “What a pleasure to finally meet you, though I can’t say I’m a fan of the circumstances.”
Monroe’s face flashed with visible shock. He recovered quickly though, seemingly consumed by curiosity. He was so open with his expressions that Sylar was instantly suspicious of it. He was either an idiot or he was trying to manipulate Sylar somehow.
“Now just how do you know my name?”
“I know a lot of things that might surprise you.” Sylar countered with a shrug. There was no way he was going to be tricked into showing his hand this early in the game.
“I think I just might believe you about that, Mr. Sylar.” Adam conceded graciously. “Hmmm… Peter said you were dangerous, and I have no doubt that you are, but he never mentioned that you’re a clever one too.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Adam.” Sylar was surprised by how amused he was by the whole situation. Monroe was probably very good at getting what he wanted, but even Gabriel had been good at reading people and since Sylar’s ability had awakened he’d become a master of it.
He couldn’t help thinking again of the last time he was drugged and bound to a chair, similar and yet so different. Mohinder had been all fire and emotion. It had taken absolutely everything Sylar had to talk him out of pulling that trigger. This was a walk in the park by comparison. Monroe didn’t want him dead, not yet at least, which was a truly pleasant change.
“Can’t blame me for trying though,” Adam smiled and leaned back in his seat. “Alright, forget the games then. Let’s get straight to the point. I need muscle and you need resources. Right now you’ve got to be ducking the cops, but more importantly I’m sure you’re on the Company’s radar. If you know who I am, you should know who they are.”
Sylar nodded once, fighting the reflexive expression of disgust at the mention of the Company. No need to give this man any more power.
“You can outrun the police forever, but the Company knows what they’re up against. Eventually they will find a way to take you down. Unless,” he smiled conspiratorially, “they’re on your side.”
That got Sylar’s attention, though there was only a flicker in his eyes to betray it.
“Planning a takeover are we?” He returned with mild amusement.
“Call it Reclamation. I’m only taking back what was mine to begin with. I’ve already had 10 of the 12 so-called Founders eliminated. Take out the last two and as long as I’m there to seize the reigns no one will challenge me. I’m in charge and you’re left alone.”
Sylar sat in silence, pondering Adam’s proposal. There was a certain appeal to it. If he could trust the man to keep his word it would make his life much easier. With the Company off his back all he’d have to worry about would be Petrelli and his band of do-gooders. Still, there were a lot of reasons not to go along with it as well.
“The people I’d like you to kill for me both have abilities of their own. One of them could be extremely dangerous to go after unprepared.” Adam continued, apparently determining that Sylar needed more convincing. “I’d be willing to point you in the direction of some other highly useful targets. Some of them are even gift wrapped and waiting for you in the Company cells. Naturally there are some that have been or would become my allies whom I’ll need to keep around, but I assure you that you won’t be disappointed.”
Sylar let a feral grin grace his lips as he decided that he had heard enough. With a simple thought the cuffs on his wrists melted and pooled into a puddle of molten silver. Sylar stood, facing a startled Adam. Not shocked or terrified, just surprised. Clearly he was still underestimating Sylar’s capabilities.
“I’m impressed. It should have taken twice that time for your abilities to return.” Adam rose to his feet as well as he watched Sylar slowly circle the room, grin still plastered to his lips.
“Oh you’ll find I’m full of surprises.” Sylar replied with amusement. He was focusing his hearing to find the right wall.
“So do we have a deal then?”
Sylar paused, laying a hand thoughtfully on the concrete wall before turning to lock gazes with Adam once more.
“I’ll admit that I do have people to kill in the Company. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was some overlap. I’ll even admit that I do find the idea of having an ally take over to be appealing.” He caressed the concrete in a faintly disturbing imitation of affection, “Except there are two problems. One: I don’t know that you’ll stay true to your word. Even if I could, I also happen to know that you have a habit of trying to release deadly viruses. Two: you have that absolutely irresistible ability. Immortality! How could I possibly let that slip through my grasp? It would have to be one hell of a deal.”
In a flash, telekinetic force backing up a controlled nuclear burst smashed through the wall where Sylar was touching it; destroying an almost man-sized section of wall in the blink of an eye.
“Now that we have some ventilation going,” Sylar continued with a smile as the dust settled. “I think its time to draw up some new terms.”
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Mohinder rubbed his tired eyes with irritation and tried to force himself to focus on the laptop that lay open in front of him. It had been three hours since Peter had vanished to rescue Hiro and there was still no sign of either man. If he hadn’t been so used to dealing with high stress situations, Mohinder would have been panicking by now.
Instead, he was doing his best to distract himself and not focus on the most likely of explanations, being that Sylar had killed them both. No, hopefully Sylar valued his own life enough that he wouldn’t kill Peter. Something else must have happened. If not, then the research he couldn’t concentrate on would be more important than ever.
It had been a hellishly long day for Mohinder, and he should have gone to bed hours ago, but he didn’t want to be sleeping if Peter suddenly reappeared in need of help. He didn’t think he could sleep through the worry anyway, though sheer physical exhaustion might not give him a choice if this continued on for much longer. Mental exhaustion wasn’t far behind either.
Mohinder stared at the latest test results on Peter’s blood in something near exasperation. This virus didn’t make any sense at all. It hardly even looked like a virus, and it certainly wasn’t behaving like one. This pathogen could be alien in origin for all he could make heads or tails of it and if he didn’t make some sort of headway soon he was going to need to find help. It was a situation that he had been hoping to avoid like the plague he was trying to prevent.
At three o’clock in the morning, it all seemed rather hopeless.
Mohinder stretched out, letting a long yawn escape before staring at his empty cup of tea. Nothing like a little caffeine to keep him going, he supposed. He stood sleepily, pacing over to plug the kettle in. His entire body ached and he knew that he should get some rest. His body needed it, he was stressed out and there was nothing he could do but wait. At least the wait would be easier asleep.
“So, what, you’re going to cut me open?”
Mohinder moved faster than he would have believed possible, as tired as he was, whirling towards the source of an impossible voice, Sylar’s voice. The sight that lay before him froze Mohinder in place. A mixture of fear, grief and incredulity coursed through his frame in an instant. His apartment had changed, looking more like it had when Mohinder had first arrived from Madras in search of answers. Even more impossibly, his father sat at the dining table across from Sylar. Only it was Sylar in a way Mohinder had never seen him before.
“I’d like to run some tests. EEG, EKG, nothing invasive. A friend at Columbia has access to an MRI.”
This couldn’t be real. It was utterly impossible, and yet… The explanation sank in as his mind continued to reel. He was dreaming, had to be. Only it was of things he couldn’t possibly know, with a clarity that no normal dream could ever possess. He’d only experienced this once before, back in India. This was Sanjog’s ability at work.
“Mapping the brain.”
His father looked the same as he ever had; drinking tea with the man who would eventually end his life. Sylar -or Gabriel, Mohinder supposed- on the other hand, looked almost like a different man. On the surface, it wasn’t hard to see why Sylar viewed his past self as another person entirely. Gabriel was dressed in a dark sweater over a sweater-vest with a hint of a white shirt underneath. He had on thick glasses and his hair was perfectly slicked and combed off to the side. His shoulders were hunched in a manner that had the name Zane echoing in Mohinder’s head and he spoke with an almost giddy eagerness; but the intensity in his eyes, that was all too much like the Sylar he knew. If Mohinder hadn’t witnessed a resurrection and seen a man exploding in the sky above New York, he would have said it was the strangest thing he’d ever seen. Strange had taken on a whole new meaning in his life, but at the very least this was disconcertingly surreal.
“Measuring Alpha waves, resting rates, neuron clusters. The brain controls every human action, voluntary or involuntary; every breath, every heartbeat, every emotion. If the soul exists, scientifically speaking, it exists in the brain.”
It was a view on life and philosophy that Chandra had never shared with his son. They’d never had a relaxed moment together; always some sort of tension or strife between them. There was an ache in Mohinder’s chest. He’d always known that, to some extent, Sylar’s harsh words had been right; but seeing his father bonding more easily with a man he barely knew than with his own son evoked sharp echoes of old pain.
Gabriel laughed; relaxed, happy.
“When I was a kid, I used to wish some stranger would come and tell me my family wasn’t really my family. They weren’t bad people, they were just… insignificant, and I wanted to be different -special- I wanted to change. A new name, a new life.” Gabriel paused, his intensity fading into something more normal. “The Watchmaker’s Son… became a Watchmaker. It is so futile. I wanted to be… important.”
“You are important Gabriel.”
“What do you think my abilities might be?” The eagerness again, and Mohinder could see just how desperately Gabriel must have clung to every word Chandra spoke.
The scene shifted, blurred. The lighting dimmed and Mohinder felt a wave of disorientation before the new scene settled into place. It was his father and Gabriel again, this time running tests. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed, but from the change of clothes Mohinder knew that at the very least it wasn’t the same day.
“Why do you repair watches Gabriel?”
Gabriel sighed, “My father didn’t really give me a choice.”
“Yes but why not do what you want to do? Why not change?”
Gabriel withdrew for a moment before a thought seemed to hit him, and that eagerness that Mohinder associated with Zane was back again.
“You use a phrase in your book: Evolutionary Imperative.”
“That which we are destined to do.”
“Sea turtles die on the same exact beach where they were born. Lions slaughter gazelles. Spiders eat their young. They don’t want to, they have to.”
Chandra took another look at the monitor and sighed.
“Well, the good news is: you’re healthy.”
“What, you mean n-normal? What, there’s still no signs?”
“No.”
No? His father hadn’t seen it? Hadn’t found it?
“Well, maybe tomorrow. We’re still going to the CT scan right?”
“I think we should prepare for the possibility that… I may have been wrong. You may not have a special ability.”
Gabriel stood, “I am so close. I can feel it.” Chandra shook his head, started to reply but Gabriel cut him off. “You came to me. I am on your list.”
“These tests aren’t one hundred percent.”
“Don’t give up on me.” Gabriel voice was so desperate, pleading.
“There are other opportunities I need to focus on.”
Mohinder winced at his father’s reply. Gabriel was clearly already unstable to begin with. He was so obviously desperate for validation, approval, assurance that he was worth something. Chandra couldn’t have picked a worse reply and Gabriel reacted as Mohinder would have expected even if he hadn’t known who Gabriel would eventually become.
“What like these people, huh?” Gabriel grabbed a stack of folders off the table, growing hurt and anger evident in his voice. “They’re important? This guy, Brian Davis, you think he’s telekinetic? Move things with his mind. Are you just going to toss him aside too?!” Gabriel threw the folders across the room, seething, and Mohinder closed his eyes as Chandra asked Gabriel to leave and Gabriel proceeded to storm out. Brian Davis, he must have been Sylar’s first victim, the source of his prized telekinesis. If only Chandra hadn’t so callously rejected Gabriel, maybe that man would have lived.
The world shimmered and rippled, darkened even more, and the scene that unfolded was far more familiar.
Sylar stepped out of his motel room, hunched against the cold, and Mohinder had no problem working out when this moment had occurred. It was the motel they had stayed at the night before finding Dale’s body.
Sylar closed the door to his room and took a step towards the parking lot before stopping in his tracks. He remained motionless for a long moment before turning to look at the door to the room next to his. Mohinder knew that he must have been deeply asleep at this point; blissfully unaware that he had just led a serial killer to his next victim. He stood and watched now in silence, the sting of the betrayal, of his own monumental stupidity stung in his chest.
“Why this moment?” Mohinder asked aloud. He wasn’t really expecting Sanjog to appear and reply, but the words were out of his mouth before he could consider the logic of it.
Sylar continued to stare at Mohinder’s door for an uncomfortably long amount of time. Several minutes, at least, must have passed before he took a step towards the door, brushing a hand up against the painted wood. Sylar let out a deep sigh, leaning his side up against the door, his intense gaze falling away to reveal something Mohinder had never seen in him before: sadness. It was a display of weakness that Sylar would never, ever let anyone see, and Mohinder couldn’t tear his eyes away. Sylar raised a hand, curled into a fist as if he was about to knock, only to jerk to a halt a mere inch from the door.
“No,” Sylar’s voice was so soft that Mohinder nearly didn’t hear the whispered word. “When he finds out… he’ll hate me.”
Just like that, Sylar stood up straight, shaking off his melancholy. His posture straightened and his entire demeanor changed to the far more familiar, predatory one. The scene dissolved as Sylar stalked off, presumably to visit Dale’s garage.
Mohinder watched in silence, and couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if Sylar had knocked on his door that night. Whether Dale might have survived, or if her fate had been sealed the moment Sylar had laid eyes on her.
He was getting used to the shifts in perspective now, but Mohinder wasn’t at all prepared for the next scene that unfolded before him. The room was the one in which his lab would eventually be built. Issac Mendez’s loft was filled with scattered paintings that Mohinder had heard about but never had the chance to see. Under any other circumstances he might have been entranced by them, distracted, but right at that moment they were wholly unimportant.
Four gruesome paintings in black and crimson framed the reality spread out before them. Issac Mendez, pinned to the floor, lying in a pool of his own blood. It was one thing to know that he worked every day where the man had been murdered, but it was quite another to actually see it first hand.
Speaking of Sylar, Mohinder wasn’t surprised to note that he was in the room too. Each one of these glimpses into the past had been surrounding him, after all. As distracting as the evidence of what Sylar was truly capable of was, Mohinder forced himself to concentrate on the killer himself. It helped that he couldn’t smell anything here.
“I can hear you dialing 911. It was a mistake to call.” Sylar’s voice, his inflections and the emotion buried beneath the surface were exactly as Mohinder remembered them. He’d replayed that phone conversation over and over in his head so many times after Kirby plaza. He’d tried to imagine how things might have gone differently if he hadn’t foolishly dialed 911 for help. What could police officers have done anyway but get themselves killed? Mohinder could admit it, hearing Sylar’s voice again had caused him to panic. He wasn’t sure what he should have done, if anything could have stopped what had happened, but the question had preyed on his mind for a long time. Up until Matt, having moved in just the week before, complained of how obsessive and repetitive his thoughts were.
Sylar stared at the phone in silence for a long moment before crouching down by the mural on the floor of the bomb exploding over New York.
“Why?” He muttered to himself, “Why would I do it? It doesn’t make any sense…”
Sylar continued to stare for several long seconds before rising to his feet. Arms crossed, hand clenching the phone so tightly that his knuckles were turning white; Sylar began to pace back and forth across the room. Mohinder didn’t think that he could regret his actions more until this moment. Sylar was genuinely worried. The idea of killing all those people truly bothered him.
While Mohinder was lost in his thoughts, mind whirring to process certain uncomfortable newfound truths, Sylar had come to a decision. Mohinder’s eyes shot back across the room to him as Sylar dialed the last few numbers.
“Hi mom, it’s me.” A pause. “I know. I know it’s been a while but I’ve been thinking about things, thinking about the future; my future.” A deep breath and another pause. “I know its last minute, but if I could just come talk to you. Can I come over?” Longer pause. “Great. I’ll see you soon.”
As the scene blurred and shifted again, Mohinder felt his stomach clench painfully. He knew from reading Sylar’s file what had happened to his mother, but he’d never considered that he’d gone to see her because the first person he’d reached out to for help had failed him. It felt like another murder Mohinder could have prevented, another life he could have saved.
The next scene to lay itself out before him was the most foreign to Mohinder’s knowledge. Sylar was talking with an older woman who must have been his mother. He was dressed in the shirt and sweater-vest that Mohinder was starting to think had been the only style of clothing Gabriel had worn.
He’s wearing those glasses again… odd, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t wear contacts now.
He was also, Mohinder noticed, wearing a coat that didn’t belong to him.
That’s where it went… why would he steal my coat of all things?
The apartment was awash in clutter. So very unlike the place Mohinder had broken into with Eden when Sylar was still a nebulous dark shadow, a faceless murderer.
Sylar had zeroed in on a broken clock and set about repairing it like it was a compulsion. Mohinder’s eyes were glued to the scene. It was a pleasant change to see that obsessive concentration focused on something so harmless and productive. More surprisingly, despite all the disdain Sylar had shown for his previous life and career, while his full attention was on the delicate mechanism buried within he looked content, almost happy.
“I can’t tell you how proud I am.” Virginia Gray was a small woman, wiry and carrying a flustered air. She was petting her son like he was a precious pet rather than a grown man; hovering over him in a way that could easily become irritating, smothering.
Sylar scoffed gently, “I haven’t done anything.”
“You travel the world! Some of us only get to see it in snow globes.”
If only you knew what he did while he traveled…
“I’m tired of traveling. I think I might stay here.”
What?
“In Queens? Why would you ever come back?”
“If I stayed maybe I could stop… Maybe I wouldn’t have to-“ He broke off as he looked into his mother’s eyes. It was an astounding, almost unbelievable admission -confession- and there was no way that woman could possibly understand its meaning.
“What?” His mother asked softly, “Gabriel!” She got up, starting to say something else when the scene shifted once more. Not as far this time, the change was faster.
The world resolved itself in the middle of a struggle. Both Sylar and his mother looked on the verge of tears. Clearly something had gone horribly wrong between then and now. Mrs. Gray grabbed a pair of scissors out of her knitting basket, pointing them at her son like she would stab him with them if he got too close. Sylar grabbed hold of her wrists, pulling the dangerous scissors up and out of the way. Harsh words were exchanged, but Sylar’s face was a landscape of agony. He had tried to calm his hysterical mother down, but now things had spiraled out of control.
Mohinder winced and looked away as he heard the sound of torn flesh. It really was an accident. Sylar’s look of utter horror as he stepped back and saw the scissors protruding from his mother’s chest, blood seeping from the wound to soak into her shirt, was proof of that. Shock, disbelief, despair; all these things were splayed out across both faces before Mrs. Gray collapsed.
A half-cry had Mohinder nearly jumping out of his shoes. A blink of the eyes and Hiro was there, having swung his sword at Sylar and failed to land a blow. Sylar caught the blade easily, momentarily distracted from the horror that had just befallen him. Mohinder had to admire his reflexes.
“That heartbeat; you were in the loft, why are you following me?”
“I must stop you.” It was the first really good look Mohinder had ever gotten of the time traveler. He looked so young, uncertain and afraid.
“Then do it.” Sylar pulled the sword forward, placing it against his own neck. It was a move that shocked Hiro and Mohinder alike. “Do it! KILL ME!”
Hiro was trembling, unable to wrench the sword from Sylar’s grip as a wave of cold harsh enough to freeze steel spread from his grip.
“You can’t, you coward. Now I’m going to have to kill you.”
“Hiro!” The newcomer wasn’t someone Mohinder recognized. He must have been Hiro’s friend though, because as he came bursting through the door Hiro grabbed a hold of his shoulder and both men vanished.
“Thank you for your help Sanjog. I can handle things from here.”
Mohinder tore his eyes from the scene before him at the sound of a woman’s voice. Where previously there had been the back of the apartment, there was now an odd, fuzzy empty space filled with just two people: Sanjog and a woman Mohinder had never seen before.
Sanjog nodded to the woman before turning to flash Mohinder a smile.
“Good luck.” He intoned with a voice that had always felt a bit eerie to Mohinder. It spoke of wisdom beyond the boy’s relative youth and he couldn’t help wondering what horrors the boy had witnessed thanks to his ability.
Sanjog vanished into the increasing blur, and as he went a new reality snapped into place. Pristine, clear blue sky as far as the eyes could see met Mohinder’s confused gaze. For the moment though, he wasn’t interested in the scenery.
“Who are you?” He asked as politely as he could manage given his confusion. “What is this all about?”
The woman had been distracted by the change in scenery but now she focused her full attention on Mohinder. She was dressed simply in sneakers, jeans and a plain brown t-shirt. She was about Mohinder’s height with a slim but well toned build; she looked like someone familiar with manual labour of some sort. Her red hair was tied back in a no-nonsense braid; her ovular face composed of a mixture of chiseled angles and smooth curves. Her eyes were what stood out the most. Not the colour -a muted shade of brown- but the sorrow they conveyed. They spoke of a life and experience that must have been anything but pleasant. They spoke of grief, and despair, but as she curled her lips into a small smile of greeting there was also the tiniest flicker of hope.
She took a few steps closer and extended her hand in greeting. For all that her eyes spoke of untold horrors there were no signs of external damage. No visible scars to tell of past events.
“Dr. Suresh,” She greeted pleasantly. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Your journals brought to me a hope I never thought I’d find.”
Mohinder clasped hands with this stranger more out of habit and common courtesy than anything else. Getting a visit from Sanjog was always a bit surreal, but this was just bloody confusing. His mind was still backed up trying to process what he had just seen and now he had to deal with this. It was all he could do to try and file this newfound plethora of information away for future consideration.
“I’m sorry, what journals?” He managed afterwards.
“Oh-“ She paused for a moment, a faintly embarrassed look settling over her features. “Sorry, you haven’t written them yet. I suppose you never will now, at least not under the same circumstances.”
It was a testament to how crazy Mohinder’s life had become that instead of blinking in confusion he managed to pull the pieces of this particular puzzle together right away.
“You’re the one that saved Peter’s life aren’t you?” He deduced with a touch of awe, “the one from the future.” If she was an Empath, like Sylar had claimed, then that explained how she’d stepped into this odd dream state that he’d previously only associated with Sanjog.
The woman nodded and turned away. Mohinder followed her silently to the edge of what he now realized was a roof. He watched her carefully as they reached the railing. The woman’s eyes were full of nothing but sadness now.
“This is the world I come from,” she explained mournfully. “The skies are cleaner then I once ever thought possible. Nature has rebounded, started its recovery, reclaiming the earth. It’s a shame that something so right could only come from something so horribly wrong.”
Mohinder turned to look out over the city stretched before him. He didn’t recognize the skyline, or any landmarks, but it really didn’t matter which city it was. Streets that should have been flooded with people were deserted and overrun with the green of grasses and the like that had started to take over. A few bits of litter tumbling down cracked and crumbling sidewalks were all that moved. There was some minor destruction in evidence, but nothing more than what a few looters, maybe just some poor souls trying to survive, might have inflicted.
“I already believed in what this virus was capable of, why show me this?” He asked softly. It was so quiet; that was the most unnatural part of it all. Silence reigned supreme; interrupted only by the gentle whistling of the wind and the occasional birdcall.
“I don’t know if this can be stopped,” she replied slowly, her gaze fixed on some point on the horizon. “It took a long time to find out how the virus was released. It was your writings that led me to the answer. So I traveled back to kill Sylar; the one biggest threat to Peter Petrelli’s life. I never seriously believed that I could do more than delay the inevitable, give humanity a few more years. Some of the best minds in the world tried to find a cure and failed. A part of me hoped that they had just needed more time, but… well optimism is hard to find in a world like this.”
She paused for a moment, chewing on her lower lip as her eyes darted from the skyline to Mohinder and back again.
“When Sylar fingered me as an Empath, like Peter, I agreed for simplicity’s sake. The thing is, though, we’re not quite the same. He absorbs abilities with much more ease and to a greater extent than I have ever been capable of. A- a friend of mine used to joke that I was the older model.” She let out a huff of air and turned around to lean against the railing. “Thing is, while Peter quite readily absorbs the abilities of others, he also absorbs a bit more. At least, I’m pretty sure he does. It’s probably not something he’s noticed in himself yet, but for me it was the first thing. My talents work through touch; and while I have to struggle to strengthen the abilities I take on, I can quite easily Read people. Passively, it only gives me hints of their emotions, their personality, but over time I developed it into something much more. I can see who people are, and the past experiences that shaped them into what they’ve become.”
“You used that ability on Sylar?” Mohinder questioned with intense curiosity.
“Yes,” she nodded the affirmative before straightening. “He wasn’t unconscious long enough for me to get more than a slice of the overall picture, but what I got nearly took my breath away. It’s a bizarre twist of fate to say the least, but Sylar may be the only one who can save the world.”
Part 14